


Can't Wing For Losing

by Momonoki



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Dorks in Love, M/M, Silly, Slapstick, Slash, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momonoki/pseuds/Momonoki
Summary: A silly Drake/Launchpad (Drakepad) story featuring a smattering of slapstick elements throughout.  Even when these goofballs are trying to have a romantic night together, they can’t catch a break.
Relationships: Drake Mallard & Gosalyn Mallard, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	Can't Wing For Losing

**Author's Note:**

> In the 90's show, Darkwing and friends are subject to tons of slapstick cartoon violence, so I thought it might be amusing to write a Drake/Launchpad (Drakepad) slashfic with a sprinkling of these elements. I know that random slapstick might kind of take the reader out of the moment, but in a romantic context I personally find it hilarious (and ironically, even a bit realistic at times, more so than when everything is perfect). 
> 
> This fic is based on the characterization of Drake Mallard from the 90's show, although I set the story in the present-ish. I really like the new version of him they did for the Ducktales reboot, but as far as personality goes, in my opinion the old version is much saltier and much more of an ass, and it is that kind of snark that I tried to recreate here.
> 
> FYI: Sex happens in this story, but it’s only alluded to. There are silly jokes, some of them dirty. Also, random swearing occurs throughout.

After Drake Mallard was convinced that his daughter Gosalyn had _finally_ gone to bed (although to be honest, she was probably just reading comics with a flashlight or whatever kids did these days, but hey, at least she was quiet), he started on finding a way to hint to his husband, partner and heroic sidekick Launchpad McQuack that they should do the same. As usual, it was more than likely to be difficult to convince Launchpad, who was camped out on the couch, watching that infernal _Pelican's Island_ show, eyes wide and shimmering, as if he hadn't seen every episode at least 50 times already. Crossing his arms, Drake stood resolutely in front of the TV and shot Launchpad one of his signature scowls.

"Aw, come on, DW!" Launchpad craned his neck around to better see the screen. Given Drake's small frame, it was _almost_ possible to keep watching even when he was trying his best to stand in the way. "I'll be upstairs in a minute. Just one more episode!"

"Uh-uh! No way. You'll just pass out on the couch. _Again_." Drake turned and pressed the TV’s power button, and the room fell dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of the night light they kept on in the kitchen. Which was for Gosalyn’s sake, mind you, not any adults who might be just a teensy bit afraid of the dark.

"You know you can watch that crap anytime, right? It's on Nestflix after all."

Drake locked eyes meaningfully with Launchpad, who was suddenly giving him his full attention. Then, as Drake sultrily sidled over to his significant other, he muttered, "And I was hoping we could get to the 'chill' part."

Drake smirked, congratulating himself on a joke that was _in no way_ a tired cliché from at least half a decade ago—and as if punished by the universe, accidentally banged his leg on the sharp edge of the coffee table. Tears in his eyes, Drake gritted his teeth and collapsed in a decidedly unsexy puddle next to Launchpad on the couch.

"Gee, DW, are you okay?" Launchpad looked concerned as he rubbed Drake's shoulders, while the smaller duck buried his face in the couch cushions, half to mask his yelp of pain and half to disguise his embarrassment. "That's going to leave a nasty bruise. Want me to get you some ice?"

“Idon’tneedanyice!” Drake shouted, his voice sounding angrier than he meant. Thankfully, his frustrated retort was mostly muffled by the cushions, but worryingly, there was no response from Launchpad. 

_No, no, no, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go_. He didn’t want to yell at Launchpad, he wanted to… _oh, damn it_. Hoping that Launchpad wasn’t offended by his (typical) outburst, he tentatively lifted his face from the cushions and peered up over his shoulder at the ever-patient Launchpad, who was smiling warmly down at him. One look and his heart melted completely. Although he was usually loath to openly admit his flaws, secretly Drake marveled at how Launchpad put up with him. He truly didn’t deserve this man. 

Now contrite, Drake sat up properly and turned towards Launchpad. “I’m sorry, LP. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Drake wrung his hands, looking uncharacteristically shy. “It wasn’t your fault. Despite the fact that I’m usually the pinnacle of poise, sometimes—but very RARELY—I’m just a bit clumsy, and I occasionally lose my temper, as you know and—nghk!"

Before he could prattle on with his half-baked apology, Launchpad cut him off with a kiss, which, after a beat, a surprised Drake eagerly returned. Drake felt his mind start to fog over as he lost himself in Launchpad’s tender—and every time, he had to admit, impressively muscular—embrace. Somewhere in the back of his mind Drake had kind of hoped that they would have gone upstairs first to avoid the possibility of scarring their kid for life—because who wants to see their dads making out, really—but since he hadn’t heard any rustling from Gosalyn’s room or anywhere else in the house, he brushed the thought aside and turned his attention back to his husband. 

He must have been a bit too eager to get back to the party, though, because when he leaned further forward against Launchpad to deepen their kiss, the two of them got thrown off balance. Launchpad, seemingly caught unawares by Drake’s sudden enthusiasm, pitched backward over the couch arm, hitting his head sharply against the lamp, knocking it off the side table onto the rug. Due to some small miracle the lamp didn’t break, but Launchpad certainly looked like he might have. 

“Oh no! LP! Are you okay?” Drake, sitting on Launchpad’s chest, pulled at the pilot’s scarf imploringly. Drake could swear he could see stars, or maybe even X’s, in Launchpad’s eyes as he laid limply over the couch arm. Using Launchpad’s shirt to roughly tug him back upright, Drake instantly regretted his action, because he forgot the crucial detail of Launchpad’s weight, which caused LP to tumble down on top of him, and not in the way he preferred. _Great_ , Drake thought to himself as he struggled to breathe, stuck between the couch and Launchpad’s sexy but lumbering self. _Now I know what a sandwich feels like._

Thankfully, Launchpad finally came back to reality, looking a bit dazed. He scanned the dimly lit room in confusion.

“DW? Where’d you go?”

A muffled groan from under him alerted the pilot as to Drake’s whereabouts, and he promptly jumped off the couch. Drake looked every bit like a pancake.

“Launchpad,” he muttered, “Let’s go upstairs. It might be…safer up there.”

Launchpad smiled and scooped up the pile that was his husband and headed towards the stairs. Drake wasn’t especially a fan of Launchpad carrying him princess-style when other people were around—he could just imagine Binkie Muddlefoot from next door giving them both the side eye—but tonight he could tolerate it. He definitely didn’t _enjoy_ it, he tried to reassure himself while also wrapping his arms securely around Launchpad’s neck. And the sigh that escaped his lips was certainly one to indicate his slight irritation, not one of contentment.

Unfortunately for him, Launchpad didn’t seem to take it that way, as Drake’s sigh came off to him more as a throaty purr, right into his ear. Completely sidelined, he slipped on the first step of the stairs, and both Launchpad and his precious cargo fell over onto the landing with a crash, sending umbrellas and shoes flying. Just like with his regular plane crashes, they weren’t hurt, but the noise was undeniably loud enough to wake their daughter.

“Launchpad! Gosalyn’s guaranteed to wake up now!” Drake admonished through gritted teeth, despite the fact that he was still daintily hanging on to the pilot’s neck. Both didn’t breathe for a moment, just looked up the stairs and waited for any sign of movement or noise from Gosalyn’s room. After waiting for a few agonizingly slow minutes, nothing happened. The two turned to each other. 

“I guess she’s sleeping?” Launchpad shrugged.

“Or she’s listening to music or videos on her phone?” Drake felt his blood pressure rising. “After I expressly told her NO PHONE after lights out…” He was about two seconds from jumping down from Launchpad’s arms and marching right into her room to tell her off. As usual, though, Launchpad distracted him.

“Shh, shh,” Launchpad whispered, turning Drake’s face so that he was looking up at him. “We can talk to her about it in the morning.” And with that, he gave Drake’s lips a quick smooch with a flirty nibble at the end, which of course instantly turned Drake as pink as his shirt. 

He was still speechless and a gooey mess as they went up the stairs—safely, this time—and even as they passed Gosalyn’s room, where he could faintly hear God knows what kind of music emanating softly beyond the door. He filed it away under Things to Grump About Later and simply gazed fixedly on Launchpad as they approached their door. Launchpad was careful not to bump Drake’s head against the doorframe as they entered their room, but in his care, forgot about Drake’s legs, and thus the leg Drake had banged against the coffee table earlier smacked sickeningly into the other side of the doorframe.

“OWWWW!” Drake couldn’t help but wail loudly. Startled by Drake’s shrill yelp of pain, Launchpad dropped him like a sack of potatoes onto the bedroom floor, causing another loud thud and another angry wail from Drake. Drake lay flat on his back on the floor, writhing in pain and wondering how on earth he was going to make it all the way to his bed without more chaos happening.

“DW! I’m so sorry!” Launchpad quickly kicked the door shut behind him (yet another thud) and pulled the crumpled Drake to his feet. He pushed him gently towards their bed until Drake could sit comfortably on the edge of it. Launchpad switched on the bedside lamp and knelt softly in front of Drake. Drake gulped, wondering where this was going.

Launchpad remained in that position in silence for a few seconds, staring at Drake’s lower half. Drake’s heartbeat quickened. _What is he doing? What is he going to do?_ It was getting harder and harder…to breathe.

“I think I’m going to get you a bandage for that,” Launchpad finally said, and went to the bathroom. Drake facepalmed and dramatically collapsed across their bed in frustration. His sudden flailing motion sent the headboard knocking against the wall uncontrollably; its blatant symbolism seemed to exist just to spite him. He was resting his eyes (not dozing!) when Launchpad reappeared.

“Hey, I found the bandages, DW. Let me fix you up.” And with that, Launchpad heavily flopped down next to him, causing both the headboard and footboard to completely break off the bedframe and fall with a crash onto the floor. 

Drake sat up with a jerk, surveying their half-destroyed bed. “What the hell? Is this thing made of cardboard?” He then winced as Launchpad tenderly lifted his leg up and applied some antiseptic to the wound.

“Well, I did notice there were a few screws loose when I finished setting it up. Huh, I thought I tightened them all,” Launchpad said, a brief contemplative look passing over his handsome features. It took some willpower, but Drake suppressed a snarky comment about Launchpad having some screws loose himself. 

Launchpad then patted Drake’s leg softly as he finished sticking an oversize bandage over the wound. “Tomorrow I’ll work on fixing the bed up, too.” He smiled at Drake and set the excess bandages and antiseptic on the side table.

“T-thanks, LP,” Drake scooted a bit closer to Launchpad, so that they were hip to hip. He glanced over at the bandages and remembered Launchpad’s equally painful incident with the lamp earlier. 

“By the way, are you sure your head’s okay?”

“Huh? You never complained about it before,” Launchpad looked confused and a tad hurt.

“Oh no, of course not, that’s…WHAT?!” Drake could feel every feather on his body turn red. _Just shoot me_ , he thought, feeling as if he was on the verge of having a heart attack. “NO!! I meant about earlier, when you hit your head on the lamp. A-are you okay?” He reached for Launchpad’s hand, and blushing even harder (as if that was possible), looked up at him inquisitively.

With one fell swoop, Drake again found himself on his back, with Launchpad hovering over him, peppering his neck and face with kisses. “I’ll always be just fine as long as I’m with you, Drake…”

“Nghk” was all that he could manage to mutter in reply. It never failed for Drake to instantly feel a rush of prickling heat spread over him whenever Launchpad called him Drake, instead of just “DW.”

By the next morning, the rest of the bedframe was also mysteriously broken.

\---

_Epilogue_

Drake, clad in his bathrobe, was enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen, while Launchpad was fixing breakfast at the stove behind him. Gosalyn came bounding down the stairs, no doubt with her famed hockey stick clasped tightly in her hand. Drake could hear the tinkle of shattering glass already. Distantly he heard her open the front door, letting in, as far as Drake could tell, her best friend Honker from next door.

“Hey Dad! Launchpad!” Gosalyn beamed at them, swinging her hockey stick around as she came into the kitchen. 

Honker appeared in the doorway behind her, meekly adjusting his glasses and shyly peering up at Drake. “Um, good morning, sir.”

Drake gave him only the slightest of nods and instead addressed his daughter. “Gosalyn! Remember what I said about playing hockey in the house,” he warned, melting a bit when she hugged LP and him each good morning. “You could break something…”

Gosalyn pulled away from Drake and scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, how hypocritical, Dad. As if somebody—I wonder WHO,” she said, rolling her eyes at Drake and Launchpad, “Wasn’t breaking the whole house last night!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He shrugged and took a deep gulp of coffee. “In any case, a certain little girl was supposed to be ASLEEP.” He’d bring up her breach of the phone rule later.

“Okay, well, if you use any sort of detective skills that CERTAIN PEOPLE pride themselves on, from the sound—and appearance of it” she pointed to Drake’s bandaged shin, “you hit your leg on the coffee table AGAIN, then somebody knocked the lamp off the table—that could honestly be either of you.” At this, both Launchpad and Drake grimaced at each other. “And you” she gave a pointed look at Launchpad, who only gave her a guilty smile, “must have tripped on the stairs again because all the stuff near the front door is all messed up. I think somebody even sat on my umbrella!” 

Drake nodded absently, as if to say “ _Yeah, whatever, sweetie_ ,” then almost dropped his coffee when he saw Binkie Muddlefoot, Honker’s mom, standing in the kitchen doorway, cheerily waving as she approached. _Oh shit_. She must have come in with Honker a moment earlier.

Gosalyn continued her rattling off of last evening’s events. “And I heard you YOWLING, Dad, and a bunch of other thuds. I’m not really so sure what went down when you went upstairs due to a lack of EVIDENCE,” She put her hand up to her chin in contemplation, ignoring Drake’s frantic head-shaking and ixnay motions at her, trying to get her to stop talking. Launchpad bit his lip and with a laser focus, concentrated all of his being into preparing their toast. Binkie blinked at Drake, smiling. The blood drained from Drake’s face.

Gosalyn was undeterred. “But one thing’s clear: you completely WRECKED your bed, Dad. And NO, before you yell at me, I didn’t go into your room—I could even tell it was busted from the hallway this morning.” Drake’s mouth was completely dry. There was no way he could stop this. 

Unrelenting, Gosalyn continued. “How’d you manage to break it so bad? No offense, Dad, but you probably needed someone STRONG like Launchpad to help, right? Not even I could do that kind of damage with a baseball bat! I’m SUPER impressed!” 

Her destruction complete—although she seemed unaware that she had caused any—Gosalyn took Honker’s hand and, ignoring Launchpad’s increasingly tall platter of toast he had prepared for them, they fled outside to play, leaving Binkie there just staring at Drake and Launchpad. Something passed over her face: was that a smirk, or did Drake just imagine it?

“Err…” Drake could only smile weakly at Binkie. If he tried to explain, it would only make things worse. “Uh, can I help you, Mrs. Muddlefoot?” Launchpad couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere except the toast.

Binkie snapped back to reality. “Oh, yes!” Binkie exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Drake, but I found some coupons I thought I’d share,” she gushed, producing a giant coupon book from her purse and handing it over to a weak-kneed Drake.

“There might even be some for, um, new furniture. Something-” She looked over at Launchpad, who wouldn’t look at her but was slowly but surely going as red as his hair, “a little sturdier, hmm? Sounds like you might be in the market for that. Anyway, toodle-oo!” And with that, she turned on her heel and went out the front door, presumably to kickstart the rumor mill. 

Launchpad and Drake collapsed in a heap on the floor, leaning on each other back to back. The day hadn’t even started and they were utterly exhausted.

Gosalyn bounded back inside as quickly as she left, Honker in tow. She grabbed a couple of slices of toast from Launchpad’s toast tower, and mouth full, narrowed her eyes at her dads. “Hey, what’s eating you guys?”


End file.
